


in a hurricane

by simplecoffee



Series: Aurora 'verse [3]
Category: Oblivion (2013)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: Three different nights (or one).
Series: Aurora 'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964911
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	in a hurricane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThisPolarNoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPolarNoise/gifts).



"You'd have to get another communications officer," Vika says. Jack's heard it before; he'll probably hear it again. "I wonder what she'd do with you and all your mistakes - I don't think she'd be as forgiving as I am, Jack. I'd like to meet her, tell her all about you."

Jack's not sure what he's done wrong this time. He's just tired, his shoulders screaming, throat burning. He thinks he's dripping water onto the floor, thinks he's been out in the rain. He can't quite feel his hands. He'll have to clean out the bubble ship tomorrow, stay out longer.

"Oh, maybe it'd be a man. You two would make such an effective team."

He wouldn't mind a change of partner, he sometimes thinks. Perhaps he wouldn't even mind it being a man. He tries his best for Vika, though he often falls short; he'd still try his best, no matter who came next. He could take another five years on Earth, even if it meant she'd give him a bad report and leave him behind. He could - he could kiss someone else, if he had to. He could please them better, maybe, since they wouldn't be so used to him.

"You're staring at nothing, Jack." It's true. He can't see anything. He's tired. He can't possibly say it out loud.

"I'm sorry."

"You always say that. I don't know why I ever believe you." He's not sure why, either, only that he is sorry. He always is. Always starts to hear the littlest Southern twang in his voice when he's choking up; just another thing he can't seem to fix. "God, I don't even want to touch you, I don't know where you've been. Did you even find 187 today? Go get cleaned up, Jack."

Tears are spilling down his face against his will as she leaves. He thinks of trying to blot them away with his sleeve, but his jacket is waterproof and already wet. Almost wipes his eyes with his hand, but the dust and grime would leave obvious smears. There's no way that Vika wouldn't notice if he went to the kitchen for a paper towel. 

She doesn't head for the shower, so he figures he's okay to go there himself. He turns the water as hot as he can take, wonders maybe if the next Comms Officer would be kind enough not to touch him if he asked nicely. If they'd be kind enough _to_ touch him, if he asked nicely. 

He keeps his face turned to the wall, away from the glass. If Vika's looking, he doesn't think he wants to know.

-

"Hey. _Hey_." A Scav whacks him lightly on the right arm. Her hand hits a healing cut, a deep one, hurts like a slap. "You've been staring at nothing for an hour."

"I'm sorry," he says, automatic, swallows, pulls his head together in anticipation of standing up. The Scav is Martha - he thinks that's her name. They don't like when he uses their names. "Is there work to do?"

"It's night," she says, contemptuous, like he's stupid, which is fair - he should probably have noticed the darkness. He blinks as she leaves, then snaps around, seized by the familiar momentary panic of _where's Scout, where's_ \- 

She's asleep underneath his jacket, right by his side. There's burning heat tracking down his cheeks again. He can press his hand to it, now, without thinking. He'll wash his face in the morning.

-

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry, 36." He doesn't answer, doesn't think for a minute 36 doesn't notice what he hasn't said. He sits down beside him instead of leaving the room like he'd intended, reaches down to stroke his hair in lieu of an explanation. God, he's sweating; he has to be in pain. "Were you - " his breath hitches, and he hates it. "Were you awake? Are you hurting? God, I'm sorry."

"Hush, cowboy," 36 says quietly. Jack can hear the strain in his voice this time, is already thinking of hot water bottles and cool cloths and achieving those without waking Scout when 36 reaches up for him, his hand hovering gently near his shoulder. Jack nods, and 36 smiles and touches him, tugs him softly downward, lets him press a kiss to his cheek. "You're crying, 85. You can cry if you need to; I've got you."


End file.
